


my monster.

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel
Genre: Humor, Knotting, M/M, References to Knotting, Sex Magic, Shapeshifting, Tentacles, Warnings for Fandral & weird sex & gratuitous references to Hugo's Les Misérables
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 00:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15255387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Fandral's into pretty much everything, so long as whatever it is is still Loki.





	my monster.

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous: Dashingfrost prompt: exploring kinks via shapeshifting
> 
> Guys, this one's so ridiculous but just go with it, okay? It's banter.

 “How can you lie with him? Doesn’t he frighten you?” Sif asks, in a hushed whisper. It is late at night in the tavern, and Fandral looks to his friend. The honourable Sif would never loose a secret that was not hers to release, but he can see with each day that passes that she neither comprehends nor supports his choices, is  _disgusted_ , even, that he should lie with Loki when women (and men) will so easily proposition him. “He’s a monster.”

Fandral turns his head. Across the room, Thor and Loki have fallen asleep together. Thor’s head is in Loki’s lap, atop the pillow of Loki’s bundled cloak, and Loki is still sitting straight up, his head tipped back against the back of the bench, lolling slightly to one side. His hand is loosely spread over his brother’s arm, hanging down over his chest, as if to protect him even in sleep; Thor’s right arm hangs down toward the ground, loosely wrapped around Mjolnir’s shaft. The two of them are as bad as each other, and it makes Fandral smile.

“He doesn’t look like a monster,” Fandral murmurs quietly. “You don’t think he looks sweet, when he’s sleeping?”

“Absolutely not,” Sif mutters. She has more reason to dislike Loki than most, of course: Loki ordinarily displays no issue with women, but with Sif he is ever a wild cat, snarling if she attempts kindness, and lashing out at cruelty. It is best for them all when Sif and Loki keep their distance from one another. He sees Sif’s fingers curl in an errant strand of her dark hair - is she remembering, Fandral wonders, when once it was as gold as flax, before Loki had shorn it off as a teenager? “Fandral...”

“Fine, fine,” Fandral says. “He’s a monster.” Fandral smiles, distantly, full of warmth. “But he’s my monster.”

- ❅ - ❀ - ❅ -

“You can’t possibly want this,” Loki says, some years earlier. The two of them are safely ensconced in the old cave on the beach beneath the city, Fandral leaning back against the cave wall. Loki is pacing, his eyes wide, his expression tortured. “You can’t— You will leave me at the soonest opportunity.”

“I most certainly will not,” Fandral says patiently. After Loki had returned from one of his sojourns abroad – this one lasting nearly ten years, too long and yet so much shorter than some of his worst – Fandral had finally elected to throw himself into foolishness, into the bright heat of Loki’s cold sun. Loki had stared with perplexity and horror at the rose shoved into his hand, and he had torn them here, away from the palace, and the city, and the people.

“This is a passing infatuation,” Loki says.

“If that is so, then I should ask why a “pass” should cover nearly twenty-five-hundred years.”

“You are a _fool_ ,” Loki says.

“I don’t disagree with you.” Loki stamps his foot. The movement is so incredibly petulant and ridiculous that Fandral is forced to bite his tongue to keep from laughing: evidently, Loki is aware of how silly the motion is, because his cheeks turn pink, and he hides his head in his hands. Fandral slips forward, cupping his cheek and pushing Loki’s own hand aside, and he draws Loki close to him. The two of them are nose to nose, and he can feel Loki’s slightly laboured breathing, feel the anxiety thrumming from him like a wave. “Loki,” Fandral whispers softly. “I have held back this confession for near three millennia. Won’t you accept it, now I have finally let it free?”

“You can’t—” Loki cuts himself off, and he closes his eyes tightly. “We mustn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll die.” It is said so helplessly, and with such _pain_ , that Fandral feels himself ache. He does not show his own agony at Loki’s fear, and he simply smiles, keeping his expression breezy as he offers a promise.

“I shall endeavour not to.”

“Be serious.”                                                                    

“I am wild.” Loki’s eyes widen in indignation – of course he should recognise it.

“Do _not_ quote Midgardian literature to me.” Fandral’s lips quirk into an easy smile, and he feels his heart _swell_ in his chest. It so delights him when Loki catches his references to one poem or play or other, so delights him to have Loki’s silver tongue turned to conversations of books and thoughtfulness…

“That book only came out a year ago,” Fandral murmurs softly. “Did you see me reading it?” The flush in Loki’s cheeks deepens, and he raises his chin.

“Fandral—”

Fandral kisses him. Loki melts beneath his mouth, despite his desperate uncertainty, his reluctance, and Fandral feels the slight cool of Loki’s lips against his own (he’s always had such terrible circulation), and when they break apart, Loki’s resolve has visibly softened.

“Give me a reason why not,” Fandral whispers. “Haven’t we been through enough, you and I? Each of us widowed, you with a divorce behind you as well… Mightn’t we claw out a little pocket of happiness for us each? Mightn’t we carve some light for you and some shade for me, and make for ourselves an island?”

“You don’t want that.”

“I can’t think of anything I want more.”

“Fandral—”

“I am not Angrboða,” Fandral whispers. Loki’s lips part: Fandral knows that he is the only man Loki knows that will pronounce her name, for none of Loki’s family will ever acknowledge the Jötunn wife he was torn from so many years ago. “I am not Sigyn.” And Sigyn, Sigyn! What a woman. Beautiful, and full of honour – Loki had insisted upon the divorce to free her from his name, and yet the law aside, Sigyn will always consider him her husband. Fandral knows this.

“You are a _man_ ,” Loki says, plaintively. “I am— Fandral, I am a monster.” Fandral leans back slightly, feeling himself swallow. This, from the God of Lies, and yet it feels like a truth, is pronounced as one… Fandral feels more than pain. He feels desperate, helpless fury, that Loki should hate Asgard so much, and be called a monster so many times he should believe it…

“Then you shall be _my_ monster,” Fandral says vehemently, and he drags Loki into a kiss once more.

- ❅ - ❀ - ❅ -

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Loki says. His voice whispers forth like a sea breeze, and Fandral shivers in the cool lake water, treading it beneath him. He cannot see Loki, initially, and then Loki’s head slowly rises above the water. His face is… It’s the same, and yet different. Fandral recognises the blue shine of his eyes, and the prominence of his nose, and the white scale is the same colour as Loki’s skin, but his ears are broad and fish-like, and his lips are just a mouth of sharp teeth.

“Then please,” Fandral purrs. “Don’t.” Loki laughs, and the sound is chittering and odd: he dips beneath the water, and when Fandral feels those teeth brush against his naked hip, he grunts, bucking in the water. Loki drags him under, and Fandral stares at him, his hair spread around him like a cloud of black ink, his legs replaced with a powerful, green tail that shimmers in the sunlight.

Loki kisses him, and he puts air into Fandral’s mouth, keeping him beneath the water.

- ❅ - ❀ - ❅ -

The first time he sees Loki shapeshift, the two of them are mid-way between their three hundredth and four hundredth years (years later, telling the story to Sam, Son of Wil, and Steven Rogers, he says they were the equivalent of eight), and they are playing together in Iðunn’s orchard. He sees Loki in the waters of the lake, with fins and scales and laughing jaws, his eyes large and flat and black, and he stares in awe as Loki comes to the edge of the pool and leaps from the water, a boy again before he hits the ground.

Loki hesitates, staring at Fandral, and Fandral stares back. Both their lips are parted, each of them breathing heavily, and Loki’s clothes cling wet to his skin. 

“Are you frightened?” Loki asks.

“Why would I be frightened?” Loki leans back, his eyes widening a fraction more, and then he smiles. Taking tight hold of Fandral’s hand, he leads Fandral forth, and they run into the orchard together. 

- ❅ - ❀ - ❅ -

“You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Loki turns his head back from the balcony, and he smiles. It is summertime on Midgard, and Loki wears brocade on his green coat, its waist drawn right in to show off the different between his waist and shoulders. His long hair is tied into a complex bun that glitters with silver chains, and he will draw glances when they step through the fair – of that, Fandral is certain.

“Surely you mean the tower,” Loki says, gesturing before them. The tower is, honestly, very ugly. It makes a fine entrance for the World Fair, that much is true, with its wide archway, but what an ugly thing it is, of wrought iron twisted into the tall spire… “It is the tallest construction any of the Midgardians have made in the _world_.”

“Why couldn’t they make it pretty, too?” Fandral says, dispassionately, and Loki laughs, winding his arms around Fandral’s neck.

“I would wager you,” he murmurs quietly, “that they will keep that tower for years upon years.”

“They will _not_ ,” Fandral says, disgustedly. “It’s hideous!”

“Then bet me,” Loki says. “I care not how much of your money you waste on me.” Fandral kisses him, delighting in the way Loki sighs against his lips, the way he _melts_. Some years they have been together, now, and yet every kiss is a wonder anew… When they break apart, Loki rests with his hand on Fandral’s hip, and he looks out over the square, sighing quietly. “What a shame Mr Hugo isn’t alive to see it.”

“He saw more than enough in his lifetime, I think,” Fandral murmurs, and Loki chuckles. The extent to which he relaxes, when they are here upon Midgard, or further abroad in the universe, is maddening. Upon Asgard, Loki is ever stiff and brittle, oft startling at the smallest shocks and jumps, terrified that they will be discovered. Here, he is lax, and easy. It is the greatest of his transformations.

- ❅ - ❀ - ❅ -

Fandral inhales shakily. This time, alright, this time… This time, he feels the slightest bit of fear. The wolf, nearly twenty feet tall at the shoulder and broad and bulky, slowly advances, its paws padding featherlight on the ground despite its immense weight. Its mouth is open, its teeth shining yellow in the dim light, and it emits a low growl that starts in its throat—

And then he sees Loki.

The eyes, this close, are brightly blue, at odds with the black, shaggy fur, and Fandral feels himself relax, marginally. It as if the wolf and Loki are abruptly one and the same in his head, and he cannot feel fear of Loki, not truly. The wolf leans back, and he draws back his mouth slightly – he smiles.

Uncertainly, with his hand trembling slightly, he puts his hand upon Loki’s great muzzle. The fur beneath is coarse and bristled. Loki shifts, bit by bit, until he is much smaller, until he is only a little bigger than Loki: the wolf form changes, becoming as much man as lycan, and Fandral lays a hand on Loki’s black chest.

The fur is softer, now, and he sighs, dragging his palm over the muscled, furry flesh of Loki’s pectoral.

Inevitably, he looks downward, at the cock between Loki’s legs, sheathed, and with—

“That’s a knot, isn’t it?” Fandral asks mildly. Loki’s jaws, wolfish and full of fiendish delight, shift into a grin. His blue eyes are twinkling, and he shoves Fandral hard into the dirt, making him gasp. Landing back on his elbows, he stares up at Loki, stares up at the cock that is slowly hardening, beginning to come out from its furry sheathe— “I love you,” Fandral says, and Loki’s laughter is like a bark.

- ❅ - ❀ - ❅ -

“I’m not going to fuck you ever again,” Fandral mumbles against Loki’s chest, which is now hairless once more. “I’m only ever going to ride your cock, Æsir, wolf, snake…”

“Snakes don’t have cocks,” Loki murmurs against Fandral’s hair. “We have cloacas.”

“ _We?”_

“Go to sleep.” Fandral chuckles, and he lets his eyes droop closed.

- ❅ - ❀ - ❅ -

They see an octopus one morning, and Fandral gives Loki a _look_.

“ _No_ , Fandral,” Loki says firmly as Fandral holds aloft the beautiful cephalopod, feeling it wriggle in his bare arms.

“ _Yes_ , Fandral,” Fandral replies.

It turns out he is correct, but Loki is _nothing_ like an octopus.

- ❅ - ❀ - ❅ -

“Doesn’t he scare you?” Somewhat drowsily, Fandral looks up from his place beside Loki’s infirmary bed, rubbing a hand hard over his sleep-thick eyes. Loki will be unconscious for at least another day or so as his body heals itself, but Fandral can’t stand the thought of leaving him alone. He hates doctors, despises infirmaries, and it is better when Fandral is here when he wakes up.

“Doctor Banner,” Fandral mutters, and he looks hazily at him. He’s a monster, Loki says – or he carries a monster within him. Loki had said it with the utmost respect, and the slightest bit of fear. Always a good sign. “He isn’t awake yet, he—”

“You love him, don’t you?” Bruce asks, and he is fiddling with his hands, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. “You’ve been together nearly half a thousand years, Thor told me. But doesn’t he— Doesn’t he _frighten_ you? He’s so much more powerful than you are. He’s… He calls himself a monster.”

“A monster, yes,” Fandral agrees mildly, with a shrug of his shoulders. “My monster.” Bruce’s eyebrows furrow, momentarily, and Fandral smiles at him. “Thor isn’t frightened of you, Doctor. He isn’t even frightened of the Hulk.” Bruce’s shifting hands freeze in front of his belly, and he bites his lip slowly, looking at Fandral with a quiet understanding in his dark eyes.

“He scares me,” Bruce says, nodding to Loki.

“That’s probably for the best,” Fandral murmurs, slowly sliding off his shoes, and he slides onto the bed, shifting over the plastic fencing about its edge. Lying down, he lies against Loki’s side, setting his cheek against Loki’s shoulder, and he lets his eyes close. “Go find Thor, Banner. You can leave us be.”

He hears Banner shift, his boots on the floor, and then walk away.

Beneath his ear, he can hear the slow, rhythmic beat of Loki’s heart, and he lets it lull him to sleep.

- ❅ - ❀ - ❅ -

As Loki’s carapace shifts and cracks, clicking together as his great, scorpion’s form shifts slowly back to something more approaching the Æsir standard. Loki shrinks in size, shrugging off blood and scraps of flesh, until he stands, clicking his neck and stretching the muscles in his arms.

“That’s pretty creepy,” Clint Barton says.

“Rather sexy, isn’t it?” Fandral says proudly, his lips pulling back in a grin. Clint, Natasha and Tony all turn to look at him with various expressions of horror. Fandral feels a slightly heady flush form in his cheeks.

“The threat has been mitigated,” Loki says mildly. “Shall we off?”

“Yes,” Fandral says hurriedly. “Let’s!”

- ❅ - ❀ - ❅ -

“Don’t I frighten you?” Loki asks softly one night. They sit together on the edge of the space station overlooking Caragi IX, both of them cross-legged against the sill. They had only been on Midgard for a short sojourn, and Fandral is rather glad to be away from it, travelling the universe with Loki, at his side—

Thor will soon be crowned king.

When he is, Loki says, they will have to return home. Loki will have to take his place as Thor’s second-in-command, will have to rest at his side. Fandral understands this, and he understands Loki’s reluctance to do so, understands Loki’s fear. But Loki knows his place – ineffably. Undeniably.

“No,” Fandral says. “Not at all. Why, do I frighten you?” Loki lets out a snort of laughter.

“No,” he replies. “But sometimes, I feel so… Hideous.”

“You’re not hideous,” Fandral says softly, and he reaches out, interlinking his fingers with Loki’s, squeezing the hand. “You want to know who you are?”

“Prince of Asgard,” Loki says softly. “Court wizard to be. Hated wherever I go…”

“No,” Fandral says patiently. “You want to know? Really? Who you are, _what_ you are?” Loki’s lips are quirked into a easy smile, and he looks at Fandral with such warmth in his eyes, such shining affection.

“What am I, Fandral, son of Alvis?”

“You, Loki, son of Odin… are _mine_.” Loki laughs, and he catches Fandral in a long, slow kiss. It’s wonderful – it’s perfect.

- ❅ - ❀ - ❅ -

On the way back to their room on the station, Fandral catches glimpse of a Nakomian mercenary, a gigantic _minotaur_ of a man nearly fourteen feet tall, wearing nothing but a loincloth, a pair of sandals, and a scowl.

He looks to Loki, his eyes wide and his expression excited. Loki’s lip twitches.

“If you wish,” he says mildly, and Fandral laughs against his shoulder.

**FIN.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Hit me up on Tumblr](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/faq). Requests always open.


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